


Barmy Bakers at Uni

by nausicaa_lives



Category: The Great British Bake Off RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 14:22:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_lives/pseuds/nausicaa_lives
Summary: What if Andrew met Tamal (and some other members of the GBBO gang) at Uni?





	Barmy Bakers at Uni

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scheherazade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/gifts).



It's not even halfway into his first semester at Uni, and Andrew is already tired, overwhelmed, and regretting a lot of his choices. And he hasn't even been drinking (very much). It isn't the course load in general. Chemistry is difficult and time consuming, but he knows what to do and just needs to put in the work, and Physics is, if not easy, no overly huge burden as Andrew is used to the familiar, reliable struggle-work-master cycle that comes with maths. French is fine. His problem is with Bio.

It’s not like Andrew didn’t know that first year bio, at a university he’d worked his arse off to get into, would be hard. Specifically, Bio 110 at 8am Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays with professor Hollywood. He knew what to expect before even getting on the train in August, and if he _had_ forgotten about the frankly alarming things he read on ratemyprofessor.com, (which he hadn’t) he would’ve been reminded when his RA looked over his schedule, saw his earliest class, and winced. Sue was a bit odd and not exactly what he’d been expecting, but she certainly had energy and was comfortingly informal. Plus, she helped bunk his bed. It didn’t bode particularly well, however, when she said, still cringing at his schedule print out, “going to be like setting your own crotch on fire, getting to that class first thing in the morning.” She’d glanced up at his hair and winced again, continuing,"I shoud know, I'm TA-ing this semester," and finally offered to “cheerfully guide you to the gates of hell if you need though, if you can’t find it.” So yes, Andrew knew the class would be hard, and the trouble wasn’t with finding it. But he sort of expected everyone was exaggerating, and figured, especially with Sue there, he'd make it through unscathed. Now, he isn't so sure. 

The assignments are esoteric, and the instructions for labs always have at least one vague part where you're expected to know what to do, and if you end up guessing, things have a propensity for going terribly wrong. Professor Hollywood walks around, not offering guidance exactly but comments that instill self doubt in the clueless and top of the class alike. Reports are graded harshly, and there have already been a few criers. Andrew's talked to a couple of fervent upperclassmen who insist that educational gains from the class outweigh the ridiculous difficulty and confusion, but most people he spoke to were staunchly of the mind that it wasn't worth it.

Tuesday, 9pm, halfway through September finds him shoving his books in his backpack with vigor. His roommate has someone from down the hall over and they’re watching Pirates of the Caribbean sans headphones. And while Andrew appreciates photogenic people engaging in swashbuckling fun as much as the next guy, he is beginning to worry he’s cursed to never finish his lab report. A lab report that is due in class the next day. Which is at 8 am.

He’s stepping into the hall, considering the chances that the stool between the shelves in the back of the third floor of the library is free, when he stops. He's not usually the sort to stop dramatically mid-step, but there’s a scent. A lovely, chocolaty scent wafting through the halls. Andrew had just the other day criticized the circulation in the building due to the overwhelming and unmistakable odor of pot, but now finds himself grateful that aromas are allowed to travel. He's in a rush, convinced if he doesn't do the work soon it just won't happen, but on his way to the stairs, despite himself, he steps into the kitchen. In the Summer, when he found out about his housing assignment, he’d been thrilled to learn he was in one of the first year student dorms that had a full kitchen in the common room, picturing long weekends rolling out dough and experimenting with sauces, but he hasn’t found the time yet. It seems someone has beat him to it. He takes a few steps in, but no one is around, and the counters are clear. There doesn't appear to be a source of the deliciousness pervading his nostrils, but Andrew doesn’t believe in ghosts, much less phantom scents, and, after looking around for more seconds than he’d like to admit, he discovers the it. Brownies, a plate of them, right on the table nearest the entryway. Sticking out from underneath the plate is a note- “FOR EVERYONE!!!”. Underneath the words is a smiley face.

Andrew is usually pretty discerning when it comes to brownies, considering certain residents’ aforementioned penitent for getting high everywhere and by any means. But he skipped lunch in favor of revising a paper for a 12:30 deadline and dinner… just didn’t happen. And the brownies look like they have chocolate chunks in them. They’re on a big white plate that has some green and brown design showing through. Andrew can’t tell what it is, but the flatware makes the brownies seem a bit more trustworthy than the average disposable plate would, and they smell heavenly and not like they contain weed. Honestly, the biggest problem with pot brownies is how shitty the brownies themselves so often are. Once they’re a vehicle for pot, no one seems to care if the brownies are just crappy mix and water with cannabutter. Andrew is certain he could do better, but these are musings for another day. For now, he grabs one of the (probably drug free) brownies. Takes a bite.

Jesus Christ that does the trick. He rolls back his shoulders and sighs deep, letting out tense breath and breathing in more chocolate. He grabs another one to take with him.

When Andrew next encounters the work of the mystery baker that Thursday, the baker themself is still present and their work unfinished. While Andrew doesn’t know for sure whether it’s the brownie baker, the presence of what looks like the same plate, now empty and waiting, seems like a pretty clear sign. Unless it’s a community plate, he supposes. Coming back through the common room towards his room after putting in a load of laundry, Andrew considers the brown haired guy, scruffy guy and tries to determine whether or not he looks like the kind of person to use smiley faces. He's leaning on the kitchen counter, peering with furrowed brows into the deep bowl he’s holding and whisking with great ferocity. It's a slow day and Andrew doesn't want to go back to studying quite yet, so he walks a little closer, curious for some odd reason to get a better look at the plate. The guy doesn’t seem to notice.

The brown on the plate is a large, vaguely grumpy looking rabbit, and the green is the Christmas sweater it’s wearing. It is a strange plate. He looks up at the guy, who sees him now and gives him a little wave.

“Did you make the brownies?” Andrew asks.

“What? Yeah, I did. So. What did you think?” Judging by the guy’s smile he probably has a pretty good idea that they were at least pretty good.

“Oh, they were fantastic. Really good. I was a little worried they were drugged, but thirty minutes later I was fit as a fiddle. Thanks.” 

“Yeah sure. I’m glad you liked them.” The guy says, and Andrew feels like he has to prove he isn’t a total novice, not a casual moocher but someone who does in fact know how to cook and isn’t completely terrible. The feeling is ridiculous. The guy interrupts his train of thought, “Sorry, I’m Tamal. And you’re… ”

“Andrew. I was really excited to learn we had a kitchen, but I’m afraid I haven’t used it at all yet.”

A smile breaks across Tamal's face. “Feel free to get in here and help, I’m just doing some raspberry macarons...” The offer is terribly tempting, not just because it’s someone friendly and warm-looking asking. Andrew misses baking. “…You could stir my jam.”

Andrew feels his face heat but hopefully it isn’t visible. He really wants to, actually, to stay here in this kitchen and stir a boy’s jam, but… “I would love to, really, but I’ve got to go study. It’s just this one class that’s killing me. It's not even the subject matter really, the assignments are just _so_ complicated-”

“Bio? Don’t say it’s Bio,” Tamal cuts in.

“It is, how did you know?”

“I’m drowning in bio.”

“Yeah,” Andrew agrees, “I’m not having the easiest time of it. Which section are you?”

“8:10, Hollywood. You?”

“Same," Andrew commiserates. "Don't think I've seen you."

“Yeah, it’s a big class. Wish I got to take it with another professor though.”

“Yeah, 8:10s rely on scheduling conflicts to fill up classes. Maybe that’s why they put him there, because they know the 8 o'clock people don’t have other options or they’d be taking it later.”

“Hey, some people are morning people!”

“Are you?” Andrew asks, just a little disbelieving.

“Well, yes… but I still wouldn’t spend mornings with Hollywood unless I had to.” Tamal admits. “Pre-Med.”

“Engineering. I’ve really got to-”

“-go, you said. You should come by tomorrow, I’m doing some biscuits.” Jesus.

“yeah, maybe.” Andrew needs to focus. He leaves before he can get even more distracted and starts to write ideas for his assignment as soon as he shuts the door of his room and gets his 5-subject notebook out. For the first few minutes it’s probably all rubbish but he needs to get started before he can think about other things.

It’s raining, and Andrew is not in the best of moods. He forgot about a French quiz, and feels strongly that he did not ace it. Not for the first time, he wonders why he’s taking French at all. He doesn’t need to, for crying out loud, certainly not for his degree… he’s almost at the end of the walk back to the dorm and the rain’s let up when he remembers about yesterday, the guy, and the offer of biscuit making. He looks around at the damp leaves plastered to the sidewalk and considers, feeling like he has to make a decision before going inside. Tamal didn’t specify a time, and it seems like maybe one of those casual offers that aren’t really offering or expecting you to accept. Andrew saw him in Bio today, only looking a little, but he was already sat across and a few rows up from him in the lecture hall. Andrew’d been talking to Selasi and hadn’t thought much of it. He shivers now and realizes that he’s become quite damp and the rain has picked up again. He heads inside. In his room he gets a little work done before resolving to just see if anyone happens to be making biscuits, and if they’re not, to make some himself this weekend. When he comes into the common room, there’s a couple groups of people at tables, but the kitchen part of the room is unoccupied. He spots Tamal sitting on a couch a few feet away next to a blonde woman Andrew recognizes as the fourth floor North Side RA. He’s on South Side. Tamal and the RA are gathering their things, him a dark brown jacket and her a poncho and very brightly colored umbrella. Tamal sees him and meets his eyes, making an apologetic face.

“Hey! Andrew?”

“Yeah, hey,”

“Sorry, change of plans. This is Mel,” Tamal gestures at the blonde, and Andrew says, “hi,” before Tamal quickly continues, “Mel and I are going and doing daisy chains with some people. Want to come?” Before Andrew can respond, Sue comes bursting through the door, singing loud but surprisingly on-pitch,  
“Dai-sy me rollin’, they hatin’, Patrollin’ and tryna catch me pickin’ flowers!” Her arms are spastically miming the raising of some roof or another. What is happening. And then, Mel joins in, echoing,

“Tryna catch us pickin’ flowers!”

Mel starts bouncing around too. Dear God, are they dancing?

“my blooms are so loud, I’m swangin’,” Sue continues, and Mel joins back in for,

“They hopin' that they gonna catch us pickin’ flowers!”

“See,” Sue starts talking seamlessly, “it’s funny because RAs do have to patrol.”

“Right,” Mel responds, “but we’re not so much worried about possession of Daisies, are we, Sue?”

“No, it’s all about the harder stuff with the kids these days. Chrysanthemums,”

“Geraniums”

“Chelidoniums”

“Otherwise known as swallowwort”

“Too true, Mel…" Sue answers, then notices her surroundings. "Oh, Andrew, you lamb, are you coming chaining with us?”

“I don’t think chaining is a verb for making chains of daisies, Sue,” Mel offers.

“No, I don’t think so.” They look expectantly at Andrew, who’s trying not to laugh. Tamal is smiling and chuckling softly.

“It’s raining,” he says, for lack of a better response.

“Not anymore it’s not,” says Sue. Andrew looks out the window to the grounds, where, yes, somehow it’s perfectly clear now.

“And I have an umbrella in case,” says Mel, “and a blanket to lay down so we don’t get too wet on bottom.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” says Sue.

Andrew knew Sue was a bit strange, but the two RAs together is quite the experience.

“Okay, might as well,” Andrew agrees. In for a penny.

“Flora, come along, we’re off!” Mel calls to one of the clumps of people at a table. A girl with brown hair and red lipstick extricates herself apologetically and comes to join them.

“These yours?” Sue asks Mel.

“Indeed.”

“Right-o. Andrew’s a South-sider. We’re tougher than you lot and are starting our own gang.” She turns firmly  towards the door and they’re off.

After exiting the dorm building they walk for a few minutes down a street at the edge of campus, then go down a little path. Mel and Sue are at the front, and the three freshmen are trailing after them. Flora introduces herself as a studio art major and is sweet and quite talkative.

“Have you done this before?” Andrew asks as they pass over a small brook.

“Well, Mel took our side of the floor at the beginning of the year during orientation, and Sue came along. This time it was optional. Obviously,” Flora glances around and gestures vaguely to indicate the resultant rather smaller number of people.

“I am a bit afraid I’m being led to the slaughterhouse,” he says.

“Well, if anyone was going to cook you up and eat you I can’t pretend it wouldn’t be Mel, Sue, and I,” Tamal says.

“Not me?” Flora asks.

“You’re just here to make this all seem innocent,” Tamal replies.

“Going to bake me into a pie?” Andrew asks, and Tamal breaks into a wide smile.

“Sure.”

"Stir me up in a 2-quart saucepan with onions, carrots, and celery?"

"Of course."

“Buttery puff topper?” This makes Tamal laugh.

“Actually,” he says, “I’m shit at pastry.”

“Are you now?” Andrew asks, teasing just a bit. They were joking about eating him a second ago so he doesn't think he's being too mean.

“Well, I can do it, just…" Tamal smiles sheepishly, "not well.” He sort of shrugs, still smiling but bashful. It’s very endearing, and though Andrew knows you don’t randomly hug people you don’t know well at all, a little part of his brain does imagine doing it in a distracted, abstract sort of way.

“I’ll have to teach you sometime,” he says, and really tries not to make it sound dirty because that’s not what he means and he really does want to bake with someone, specifically the boy next to him. Flora giggles nonetheless.

“Alright, we can all agree that Andrew is a prime piece of meat and we'd love him to teach us a thing or two, but let’s do what we’ve set out to do,” Sue interjects, and Flora is lost, doubled over. Andrew thinks that’s a bit more than the situation calls for, though he’s guessing the warmth he feels through his face is visible from the outside. No matter, they’ve reached their destination. The end of the path opens on a meadow filled, appropriately, with dandelions.

The meadow also contains an older woman, who appears to have been waiting for them.

“Hi Jane!” sing-songs Mel.

“She’s a gardener here,” explains Flora.

“We don’t really know how they became friends,” Tamal adds.

Sue and Mel fashion them all into a sort of circle and the daisy chain making commences. Andrew hasn’t designated time to do something that seems so pointless in years, and, while he does feel silly at first, the rhythm of plucking, twisting, and knotting becomes quite meditative. The others chat a bit, largely about stuff that’s bothering them. Mel talks about a resident vomiting all over during her Tai-chi time, and Jane, who’s really nice and a bit mum-like, talks about her husband eating everything as soon as it leaves the oven and never having leftovers.

“And she said that Jack told her I was annoying and too posh. And I obviously wasn’t trying to be annoying or posh so I wasn’t really sure how to fix it,” Flora says, twisting her mouth down. “And so I tried to talk less and to not talk about myself, because I thought that might be part of it, but I can’t ask him if he thinks I’m less annoying and posh now, can I? So that’s that. I did feel better when Kylie came over and we…”

Andrew offers that he just wishes, "he'd be a bit clearer, you know? You can tell that he sort of wants you to fail and he can tell that you can tell but doesn't care. And last week Ian somehow got everything right even though it was so confusing, and he got a handshake! How's that fair..." but he's so relaxed now that he's mostly getting worked up for the sake of solidarity. He feels comfortable. It’s a good afternoon.

When they get back to their floor, feet tired, talked out and silent but content, Tamal stops. Sue, Mel, and Flora have gone their separate ways.

“Hey, so. Do you want to make biscuits on Sunday?”

Andrew wasn’t sure how moving forward would go, but, hearing the offer, he's really pleased. Tamal’s brown eyes look hopeful and his eyelashes are very nice indeed.

"Yeah. Noon okay?"

"Noon's great. I have most of the stuff, but do you think you could bring some lemons?"

“Sure, that sounds good.” And it's a plan.

Late Sunday morning, Andrew’s picking up lemons at the grocery store when he runs into Candice, who shares his unfortunate Monday Wednesday Friday first period class. It's 11:30 and the dorm is close, so he isn't worried and stops to say hi and they chat for a while. She's smiling but seems a bit stressed.

"Honestly, I just wish I could declare now," she laments when he asks how she's doing.

"I mean, you can," Andrew says. He should know, he's done it. 

"I know you  _can_ , it's just my parents won't let me. They want me to do at least a semester, so I know I'm sure. And it wouldn't be that bad, but my _advisor_ ," she stresses the word and shakes her head as if that's self-explanatory, but thankfully continues. "He doesn't seem to be interested in me at all. And he's a German professor."

"And you want to major in Education," he confirms.

"Yeah," she sighs.

"Do you speak German?"

"Noooo," she answers, her voice trailing down before she reanimates and continues, "And the thing is, he acted like it was some huge burden, and as if it was my choice, when we both know it was probably random. I mean, you're  _supposed_ to get someone at least in line with you're interests if you're undeclared, but whatever. He met with all of us- his advisees- at the beginning of the year, and we all went around talking about ourselves, and everyone else spoke German! And then it was my turn, and I spoke, and he was like, 'you don't speak German?' totally serious and unamused at me, and I said 'no,' and it was horrible. Also, it's Sunday." He gives her a knowing nod. “Have you done our bio homework?” she asks. God, just when he was forgetting about it.

“Well… I started it,” Andrew answers, “Stopped halfway through.”

“Yeah, me too actually. I can’t get past the 10th question. D’you want to work on it in the library for a bit?”

  
Candice is nice and funny and often sits next to Andrew in class. He likes her because, while expressing at length along with the rest of them that the class is “crazy difficult” but isn’t ever afraid to ask questions.

“Actually, sorry, I’m just about to go bake some biscuits.”

“Biscuits? I’d kill for a biscuit. Mind if I tag along?”

“Um,” he answers. Well, it’s not really an answer, because he doesn’t know _how_ to answer. “Someone from fourth floor’s baking them and I’m going to help out…” Would it be rude to bring someone without asking? Probably not… all the same, Andrew had been curious about the boy who left brownies, and Candice coming, while sure to be a fun time, might complicate Andrew’s very slight ulterior motive of getting to know him better. Candace is starting to give him a questioning look.

“Are you part of some secret baking society that you’re not allowed to talk about?”

Andrew shakes his head, “Not that I know of.”

“I won’t make it weird, I promise,” she adds, and Andrew really does like her, his curiosity about Tamal is no reason to be a dick, and this could be fun.

“Yeah, you can come, come on.”

Tamal isn’t fazed in the least by the last minute addition, exclaiming, “The more the merrier!” and putting her to work on dough. Meanwhile, he’s heading up lemon curd and Andrew’s on raspberry jelly duty. Things are going swimmingly until he sees Candice doing something with the batter.

“Candice! What’re you doing?!” he exclaims, his surprise making his voice a little more shrill than he’d’ve liked. Tamal looks up, bemused,

“What’s she doing?”

“I’m just mixing things up a bit. I tried something once that was like sort of a scon but it was absolutely delicious, it had lemon curd and—”

“Chocolate?” Andrew interrupts, disbelieving.

“Yes, actually, it did, and it was very enjoyable. And I think it should turn out okay here.”

Tamal shrugs. “It is a bit unconventional, to have bits of chocolate in the dough if we’re doing lemon curd and raspberry biscuits,” he ventures. “But hey, it’s uni, right? Fuck it!”

Before coming to University, Andrew had imagined someone saying ‘it’s uni, fuck it’ would be in slightly different circumstances, and he had imagined that they wouldn’t have a spot of lemon curd on their left cheekbone.

“Fuck it!” repeats Candice with zest. “Andrew?”

“Yeah! We’re on our own, aren’t we? We’re adults. We can put whatever we’d like in biscuits! Fuck it!” For good measure Andrew reaches out and swipes some lemon curd off Tamal’s face. It’s tangy and sweet in the right ways and the aftertaste stays with him.

He’s happy with the circumstances he’s in.

They set another time and the next time it’s German Chocolate Cake on a Wednesday. Andrew honestly forgot about Candice’s advisor situation when he’d suggested it, but once she realized he didn’t do it on purpose she wasn’t bothered and insisted they go through with it. “No sense letting that ruin Baking Thursday,” she says seriously, and Andrew laughs.

“It’s not Thursday,” points out Tamal.

“Is it not?” asks Candice. They shake their heads.

“It’s Friday,” confirms Andrew.

“Well, I’ve already christened it and I’m not backing down.”

Andrew, Tamal, and Candice are setting up when Selasi walks into the common room. He has earphones in, but when he sees Andrew he tugs one out and waves at him. “Hey!”

Is everyone Andrew encounters in his bio class? Or does he only notice people who he's already familiar with? Probably a bit of both. He became friends with Selasi shortly into the school year when he was running late for class. They were leaving the building at the same time, but Selasi had hopped on his motorbike, and promptly insisted Andrew get on the back when he saw Andrew was planning on walking at starting at 8:03. It was rainy and Andrew got splashed horribly, but they made it in on time and they’ve sat next to each other in class ever since.

“Hi,” he responds. “We’re making cake, want to join?” He really doesn’t expect Selasi to say yes, because ostensibly he’s walking through the common room for a reason and besides, most first year students aren’t jumping to spend their Sundays cooking. But Selasi walks right over and asks, “what can I do?”

By the end of the week they have a groupchat called “Bio Bakers.”

By the next Friday Ian’s been added to the chat, along with Selasi’s friend Benjamina and Flora, even though they both protest to the name of the chat since they aren’t in Bio. Entirely uncoincidentally there are plates of muffins in the common room “for everyone”.

That weekend more of the same commences and Andrew and Tamal make tarts with Selasi, Benjamina, and Ian. Candace is busy but promised to be there the next time. It’s a simple recipe, but Andrew keeps getting distracted because Tamal seems- distracted. A little more energetic than usual maybe. He keeps dancing his fingers along the kitchen surfaces when they’re not occupied.

“You alright?” he asks. Tamal looks up and smiles a small smile. “Yeah. Just a lot. Midterms. There’s not even much more I can do to prepare, it’s just stressful.”

“I know,” says Andrew. “But we can’t let that ruin baking Thursday.”

Tamal huffs and his smile grows a little wider. “It’s not Thursday,” he says.

“That doesn’t matter,” answers Andrew. Tamal lifts his eyes to meet Andrew’s and it feels like something clicks a little.

Anyway, Andrew botches the shortcrust. They bake it anyway and it seems like the thing might be salvageable, but it turns out that Selasi pumping icing around the edges is too much for them all. Benjamina ends up with half-made tart down her side and they have to start over. This time Ian does the shortcrust. It’s perfect, damn him.

Meringue pie, breadsticks, soufflé. Autumn weeks pile up complete with papers and deadlines and they keep making things and it should be an added stress, working on recipes as well as school, but it’s not, it’s different. It takes up a few hours a week at least, but Andrew wouldn’t give it up. Everyone just keeps getting by and suddenly it's December

Andrew finds Tamal in the kitchen at night. It happens because he loses track of time studying, and is going to get water before bed. He’s going to fill up his waterbottle in the fountain, but he stops in the hallway because smells something. Unlike that first time many weeks before, it does not smell wonderful. It smells… burnt. Really terrible, actually. He checks his phone- 2:46. AM. Curiosity piqued, he heads into the kitchen, and finds Tamal leaning halfway into the oven with smoke coming around him. Andrew rushes over and starts fanning with his arms so the alarms don’t go off and dislodge the large population of sleeping first year students in the building who would probably not be please.

“What went wrong?” he asks. Tamal jolts at the sound of Andrew’s voice, clearly having been so involved in the current… situation that he didn’t notice Andrew come over and start waving his arms about in a necessary but very inane looking fashion. He turns, recognizes Andrew, and relaxes a bit. Tamal lifts his hand to his face, looks down, and deflates.

“Sorry. I don’t really know how this happened. I just- couldn’t get it to puff up, and I kept waiting, and,” Tamal gestures regretfully at the oven, where thankfully the smoke has died down considerably. He has dark circles under his eyes, but is still- well, he’s really good looking and cute and Andrew is tired and wants to help him.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks.

“Nah. Usually baking helps. I dunno why I tried something I always screw up.”

“What were you making?”

“Croissants,” Tamal answers, and sighs.

“Right,” Andrews says. Okay. “Right. You’re terrible at pastry, right?” Tamal snorts.

“Yeah.”

“We never did get around to me doing it with you.” Tamal starts to make a questioning noise, but Andrew keeps going, his gaze meeting Tamal’s open brown eyes and staying there. “All those pies and chocolates and cakes… got in the way.” He walks over to the countertop. “Looks like we still have ingredients for another batch.”

“It’s two am,” Tamal says. But Andrew doesn’t care about his 8:10 class.

“I have time,” he says, starting to measure out flour. He does. He has the better part of four years here, with Candice and Tamal and the others, and a market that has all the ingredients he could want, and kitchen access. He can’t wait.

"We never did get around to you stirring my jam either, did we?" asks Tamal, brushing his back as his passes to clean a pan. "We should probably prioritize that."

Andrew laughs and gets the dough ready to knead. He really can't wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Sue and Mel are referencing [Ridin' by Chamillionaire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CtwJvgPJ9xw) " when they're singing  
> Inspired by Tamal talking about making daisy chains with Sue and Mel in [this interview](http://www.pbs.org/food/features/tamal-final-week-baking-tent/) and how he's not good at pastry ([evidence found here](http://www.pbs.org/food/features/great-british-baking-show-season-3-baker-tamal/) and throughout season 6 (jk just in a few episodes I love him))  
> Also, I don't hate Paul Hollywood I just thought him as a difficult professor was funny.  
> scheherazade, in your letter you were open to so many cool things and I hope mixing a university au with gbbo is okay! I love the show but this is actually my first time writing RPF and I'm a little worried about the characterizations so I'm sorry if anything seems off. Happy Holidays!


End file.
